A Reason to Celebrate
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: Birthday gift for our lovely Michelle, AKA theheartofadetective. It's Sherlocks birthday and he thinks that Molly has forgotten and that he's off the hook (he doesn't like celebrating), but when he comes home he realized that she hasn't forgotten because she has a special night planned for him! Rated M for sex and stuff. Established Sherlolly


This is a lovely little birthday gift for our darling Michelle! Because she quite deserves it, and I told her I'd give her a fic for a present! :D

Hope you enjoy darling! This is for you and your wonderful day!

**I do not own anything. Nothing is mine. **

This story is rated M...for Michelle...oh wait no...it's because it's Mature! Ya know...sex and stuff.

Enjoy!

**A Reason to Celebrate**

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

He walked into the lab briskly, hoping that if he moved fast enough, he could sink into his spot behind the microscope, avoiding whatever festivities surely awaited him behind the swinging doors of St. Bart's pathology lab. However, when there wasn't a large clash of surprising sound, Sherlock paused. He looked over to where his lovely pathologist stood, and found that she was distracted by her current test running through the centrifuge.

"Good morning, Molly," he says, deciding to catch her attention, hoping that the worst will be over quickly. It isn't that he hates the idea of his birthday, it's the celebrating that irritates him to no end. The forced merriment, as he'd said of Christmas and the Watson's wedding, was something he wished to have no part in. That, plus the gathering of people who tolerated him to share 'funny' stories about their time with him, and the overly sweet taste of cake; it all drove him to a point of madness that the great detective nearly feared encountering.

"Morning, Sherlock. How are you today?" Molly asked sweetly, flashing him one of her bright smiles. He hummed a noncommittal response, before gazing back through the lens on his microscope. A pause, and she spoke again.

"Sherlock, do you know what today is?" He looks up quickly, to meet her thoughtful and questioning glance.

_'Oh wonderful, here we go.'_ He pushes the thought from his mind, before trying a simpleton's answer, hoping it will work.

"It's Wednesday." Molly nods her head, and says a quick 'thank you', before going back to her paperwork. Sherlock sits back, watching her still, and pretending that he isn't stunned at the pure dismissal of his presence.

OoOo

It's hours later, and Molly has told Sherlock she needs to leave and go run a few errands. The issue of his birthday has yet to come up, and he finds himself in the odd position of being both relieved, and slightly hurt by the fact that his Molly would forget his birthday.

"I'll text you later, and maybe we can do something for dinner, if you don't have a case or anything," Molly says, interrupting his bitter thoughts. Sherlock looks up, and nods his head silently. He stands to greet her as she nears him, and envelops her in his arms as she leans up to kiss him.

"Alright, I'll see you later!" Molly turns and leaves, leaving Sherlock with a bruised ego, and the unmistakable pain in his lower abdomen that always follows watching the sway of her hips from behind. He tries to ignore both as he returns to his experiments, forcing down the feeling of absolute _agony_.

"Perhaps this dinner will have something to do with the required festivities of one's birthday," Sherlock said out loud, to no one but himself.

OoOo

He had received the text from Molly, instructing him to meet her at Angelo's. He sighs with resign, preparing himself for the loud applause that would undoubtedly erupt upon his entrance to the small restaurant. As the cab pulled up to Angelo's, Sherlock stepped out, adjusting his suit jacket and taking in a deep breath.

"Here we go," he muttered to himself, before making his way inside. His cringe of anticipation was a bit premeditated, however, as the only sounds he heard were the conversational voices of the other guests, and the clanging of dishes from the kitchen. The one sound he could always count on, thought, rang loud and clear as he stood in the doorway.

"Sherlock!" Angelo cried from the back of the restaurant. He moved quickly to greet him, and gave the consulting man a kiss on his cheek.

"Your date, she is already here. Come, I'll show you to your table." Angelo motioned for him to follow, and he weaved between a small group of people, before making a short stop as he gazed at the vision that sat in their usual spot. Her hair was only partially pulled back, the rest hanging down her back in loose waving curls. She wore a simple dress, a lovely royal blue in shade that seemed to bring out the rosiness of her cheeks. She spotted Angelo, leading him closer to her, and she smiled brightly. Sherlock sat down across from her, and waving off the several questions that the large man asked.

"Whatever you have planned is perfectly fine, Angelo." He knew the man loved giving out the evening specials, and never put up a fuss when he could tell that he was particularly proud of a certain dish. Angelo beamed, before scurrying away to the kitchen.

"You look wonderful, Molly." He couldn't help but make a note of her appearance. The woman sitting there blushed, her pretty skin blossoming to another level of pink as she blushed at his compliment.

"Thank you. So, I know you're probably busy, what with it being a Wednesday and all, but I thought dinner would be nice first, before you get pulled away from me, again," she explained, holding her hand out for him to take. Sherlock was highly confused, which was a rare occurrence.

"Well, I...I don't have a case right now, but I understand where your logic lies. A lovely dinner with the two of us is a brilliant idea. Of course, if you wanted to spend some private time with me, Molly, you know you only need to ask. I hate the idea of you trying to plan ahead, and merely hoping that I'm available. What sort of man would I be if I ignored the calling desires of my beautiful companion?" He tried dancing around the topic of her potentially planning a party for him and attempting to make it a surprise. He knew it was bound to happen anyway, and was a bit embarrassed on her behalf that she thought she could hide it.

"Well, I like taking the initiative in our relationship too," Molly giggled, before shrugging her shoulders, before continuing, "but if it makes you feel any better, I won't make a habit of it." She sent him a sly wink, which had him chuckling just the slightest bit.

They spent the next two hours discussing the latest of discoveries in their perspective fields over their delicious supper. One thing Sherlock admired about Molly was her ability to outdo his stories from cases in the morgue. She was easily the best and brightest in her field, and put his deductive abilities to shame in several instances. He also loved her amazed expressions when he would tell her about the latest case he and John had completed, or the cases from his freshly designed career portfolio. It was in the middle of one such story that he received a phone call.

"What is it, John?" Sherlock barked into the mobile. Molly sat there, letting out a long sigh, knowing what was to come. When Sherlock hung up just a moment later, she smiled at him, though it was a bit sad.

"You have to go, don't you?" It wasn't really a question at all, but merely a somber declaration. He sighed, before standing up from the table.

"Unfortunately right away too, I'm afraid. John said it was an eight, and that he was already on his way. This was wonderful though, and I will text you as soon as I am done." With that slight promise, he leaned over, kissing the top of her head, and breathing in the scent of her hair. Molly's hand gripped his, before she looked up at him.

"Be careful, alright? And have fun, especially given the circumstances." Her slight grin made him suspicious, and he dared to charge her for an answer.

"What circumstances do you mean, Molly?"

"Well, the circumstances that it's an eight, and that you are cutting out before dessert, silly. You'd better have fun, because I hear the dessert tonight is supposed to be divine." She shot him a clever smile, before it broke up and reduced her to laughter. Sherlock rolled his eyes, before tucking his head down to capture her lips in a quick kiss.

"Save me some, then. We'll share it later." He whispered to her, sending a shiver up her spine. Molly watched after him as he left the restaurant, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

OoOo

The case, as it turned out, had only been a six. He really did need to re-brief John on the rating scale of his cases. The man was slipping. He'd not mentioned to John or Lestrade that Molly had seemed to forget his birthday, and simply accepted their quick acknowledgments on the matter, before solving the case and heading back to his home.

When he opened the door, all was quiet. Mrs Hudson had left him a card on the edge of the stair's bannister, a simple note wishing him a pleasant day and many happy returns. His long legs carried him up the seventeen steps, each one seeming higher than the other. For some reason, the added year onto his age seemed to suddenly strike, and he wearily trudged up the final steps. Of course, it was more likely the fact that the one woman he had chosen to open his heart to had seemingly forgotten that today was, in fact, his birthday. It was just an ordinary day, and he absolutely loathed it, contrary to what he would have said had any sort of celebration occurred. As Sherlock made his way into the living room, however, he picked up on a very distinct aroma.

_'Burning carbon, candle. Strawberries and cream, shampoo. Molly.'_ As he rounded the corner, he noted her sitting in his chair, her hands carefully cupped around a small tart, a single candle stuck in its center and lit. Even though it was the only light in the room, it made her perfect skin look absolutely radiant. Sherlock quirked a brow as he took in the rest of her appearance. The blue dress was gone, as was anything that may have been worn underneath it. He made his way over to her, and tried to hide his pleased grin as she held the tart up for him to inspect.

"I told you dessert was supposed to be good tonight. But you have to blow out the candle and make a wish first." Molly bit her lip, casting a coy and innocent glance up to him. Sherlock took on the mock expression of a child concentrating deeply on his wish, before he puckered his lips, and blew out the candle. His long and slender fingers plucked the small treat from her hand, and he took a bite from it, before pressing the remaining half to her lips to eat. Molly leaned forward, taking the whole thing, and the tips of his fingers past her lips. She made a delightful sound with her closed mouth, humming appreciatively that he had shared.

"So, what did you wish for?" She whispered, before pulling him down to her level. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her, his hands gliding greedily over her smooth, exposed skin.

"Hmm, let's see if you can figure it out," he whispered back, before closing the gap between them, kissing her hungrily. The taste of the dessert, mixed with the taste that was so completely Molly had the detective already wanting to move things along more quickly. He shrugged off his suit jacket, and began unbuttoning his shirt with an eager flash of his hands. The whole task would have been easier, had Molly not been completely distracting him with her tongue, as it darted along the edge of his jaw, before following her kisses down his neck. Her hands assisted in his divesting, shirking his white shirt off of his toned arms and tossing it behind him. Within an instant, her mouth had gone from his neck to his chest, deliciously nipping at his flesh. Sherlock tried to steady his increasing heart rate, his eyes closing as he soaked in the sensation of her hot mouth pressed against his skin. He opened his eyes and looked down at her, the lights from the city outside his window being the only way he could see anything at all. She slid off his chair, and guided him to his knees, before crawling to the point where he had no choice but to sit back on the floor, fully captivated by her minx-like prowl.

"Did you really think I would forget your birthday? I'm supposed to be the one with more sentiment, remember?" Her voice was low, husky in its tone as she asked the teasing questions. Sherlock was glad it was dark, or else he would have had a hard time explaining why he had gone so red in the face, embarrassed that he actually _cared_ if she remembered at all. Molly's hand toyed with the button of his trousers, before it brushed lower, her palm gliding over the prominent shape of his length beneath the ever-constricting fabric. He groaned out, his eyes rolling upward as she touched him.

"Molly...please." He grunted out when she moved to kiss him in the same manner, her hot breath pushing through the layers of material and reaching his already too-hot skin. Sherlock pulled her up quickly, colliding his lips with hers, and grasping hold of her small figure. He could feel her breasts against his chest, and decided he would never stop being surprised at just how incredibly soft she felt. She ground her hips into his lap, emitting a frustrated moan at the fact that she wasn't in contact with him directly.

"Mmm, what do you want, birthday boy? Hmm? You can have _anything_." She purred against his mouth, sending a jolt of fire to his groin. He held tightly onto her, and flipped them so that she was now underneath him, her back coming in contact with the slightly rough area rug on the floor. He chuckled as he kissed down her body, making a steady trail down the center of her thin belly, before veering off to one of her thighs. Molly's legs rubbed together, and she bit her lip to keep herself marginally quiet. Meanwhile, Sherlock was busy trying to kick his trousers and pants off, without having to remove himself from tasting her delectable flesh. He finally succeeded, flashing her a wicked grin when she had started to giggle at his attempts.

Before she could respond or make a witty retort about his awkward maneuvers, he had already moved up her body, and was wrapping her long legs around his waist, before thrusting fully into her. She nearly screamed at the surprising force of his entry, and was soon sighing and groaning for him like perfectly timed soundtrack to their activities. He moved quickly, wasting no time in claiming his present.

"Sherlock, oh...oh my..." Her head rolled back, her eyes wanting to close, though she refused to look away from him. Sherlock could barely keep track of anything other than the feeling of her tight flesh wrapping around him like a silk glove, but he was sure to capture the image of her hooded eyes gazing up at him with full need. Her pink lips were plump from their kisses, and her mouth was poised in a lovely range of sultry forms as she moaned for him to fill her again and again.

Before either of them knew it, their ecstasy took over, driving them both rapidly off the edge of the earth, the two of them hovering in the void between reality and complete oblivion. Sweat clung to their skin, and their body heat radiated off one another. Sherlock's forehead pressed up against Molly's, and their ragged breaths eventually began to slow enough so they could speak in broken whispers.

"Why is it...that it's your birthday...but I feel like I got...the gift?" Molly heaved out a final large breath, before her tired body began its recovery. Sherlock's low chuckle bounced off the short distance that lingered between them, and he pressed a long kiss to her temple.

"Trust me...the feeling is...most definitely mutual." They shared in tired giggles, before Sherlock rolled away from her. His hand reached up, pulling down the blanket from John's chair, and covering them both up with it. Molly immediately curled into his side, and Sherlock pulled her closer, not wanting an inch of her skin be free from touching his. She hummed out in exhausted glee, before scooting up a bit. She looked up at him, and noted that, much to her surprise, the consulting detective was already sound asleep. Molly leaned in, and pressed her lips to the corner of his, before she pulled away, resting her head against his arm. The hand that wasn't being held by his pushed an errant and sweaty curl from his forehead, and she took a moment to simply admire the handsome man lying beside her. She closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep, but not before murmuring a final,

"Happy birthday, my lovely detective."

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Ta-Da! I hope you enjoyed this, dearest! I realize it's already tomorrow there, but according to the time here, you've still got a few hours left to party! lol. Hope you had a brilliant day! Lots of love!


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